


Isolation Chamber

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Age Difference, Fingering, Groping, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Road Head, Sensory Deprivation, grope box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: "What should I wear to dinner?""I wouldn't worry about that. You're the centerpiece."





	Isolation Chamber

"Well, hello there."

Tim kept walking; he wasn't actually _trying_ to be rude, for once, it was just that the voice sounded so flirtatious and upbeat that he figured the speaker couldn't possibly be addressing him. He nearly jolted out of his skin when someone slapped their palm up against the wall next to his head, spinning on his heel to find an older man crowding up against him, a roguish grin on his features. "Sorry, are you busy? It's just that my family is _quite_ an influential benefactor of your workplace."

"S-sorry," Tim stammered, caught somewhat off-guard. "I didn't realize you were...talking to me."

"Why wouldn't I?" The man grinned, and Tim felt his lips twitch in something like a smile. (It had been quite some time since he'd genuinely smiled, he wasn't sure he still had the hang of it.) The man was handsome, somewhere between grizzled and elegant, with eyes so dark they almost seemed black until the light hit them and revealed them to be a deep, earthy brown. "Peter Lukas, by the way."

"Tim Stoker." Distantly, it occurred to Tim that he should probably be more resentful of anyone who claimed to be an "influential benefactor" to the Institute, but--fuck it, if a hot older guy wanted to flirt with him while he was on the clock, he'd take it. It might even count as _work,_ if Lukas was as much of a big-shot as he claimed. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"You could get coffee with me," Peter said. "You _do_ work here?"

"I--yes," Tim said. "Yes, I work here, I mean, but--also the coffee thing." (Was he really so out of practice with this? He used to be so good at banter.)

Peter smiled, and something about it felt predatory, though not unpleasantly. Tim realized suddenly that the hallway they were in seemed unusually quiet for the time of day; as if he and Peter were the only two people around. "Well, I'm on my way to chat with your boss. Why don't I get you the afternoon off?"

Tim barked out a laugh. "If you think you can convince Elias to let me go--"

"I never said _that,"_ Peter interrupted. "I can only promise the afternoon. Something tells me Elias is much too fond of you to let me keep you forever."

Tim wet his lips, leaning back against the wall. "Shame, that," he said. "The afternoon will have to do."

Peter flashed him one last grin and patted his cheek. "Go grab whatever you need and meet me back here in half an hour."

Tim let out a slow breath, watching as Peter swanned off in the direction of the stairway. Around him the Institute seemed to shake itself back into busy wakefulness, voices drifting down the hallway towards him; Rosie brushed past him, leading a wide-eyed student in the direction of the library. Tim pushed himself off the wall and wandered vaguely in the direction of the archives. It wasn't as if he had been doing anything pressing, but he could at least warn Martin that he was leaving early.

* * *

 

The coffee shop Peter brought him to was both empty and expensive as hell. Tim eyed the menu warily, but Peter strode up to the counter and ordered for the both of them without bothering to ask Tim what he wanted. They sat in a secluded corner table by the window--Tim wasn't sure why, since the place was deserted, but he wasn't about to argue with the man who sprung him from work to buy him expensive coffee.

"Did Elias give you trouble?" Tim asked, wondering vaguely if it would be in poor taste to add cream and sugar to his drink. "About me, I mean."

Peter laughed. "Oh, Elias _rarely_ gives me trouble," he said airily. He took a sip of his coffee, his lips curling in a smirk over the rim of his cup. "He sulked a bit, perhaps."

Tim nearly choked. _"Sulked?"_

"He can be a brat." Peter winked, apparently amused by Tim's delighted shock. "Enough of Elias. You work in the archives, don't you? How _is_ the new Archivist?"

The fact that he said it with the capital A didn't escape Tim's notice. "He, uh. He's a bit of a disaster, to be honest. Not that I really...blame him."

"Mmm," Peter said. "I've heard your people have been in a bit of disarray, these past few years. A shame, really, someone like you deserves...better."

Tim glanced up. Peter was regarding him levelly, unblinking. "I..." Tim floundered, unsure of himself or where this was leading. "I thought you said you couldn't convince Elias to let me go?" Never mind that he had no idea what the alternative Peter was hinting at might be.

"Oh, I couldn't," Peter said, with a dramatic sigh. "He's so possessive. But I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed to...sharing."

"Sharing."

Peter grinned, leaning in to cradle Tim's jaw. His hand was rough and calloused, the fingers blunt and strong, and Tim swallowed thickly as his imagination soaked in those details and ran amok with them. "If ever you get tired, of all those Eyes on you," Peter said, "I can offer you a respite." He ran his thumb along Tim's face, just barely skirting his lips. Tim's eyes fluttered briefly closed.

"That's...very tempting," he said. He opened his eyes and cast around the cafe; the woman who had taken their orders was no longer anywhere to be seen. There wasn't anyone on the street outside the window. He didn't even feel that nagging presence at the back of his mind that he had come to associate with the Institute. "More than tempting. That sounds wonderful."

Peter tugged him forward and kissed him. Not the chaste, hesitant peck of someone on a first date but something deep and demanding, with an edge of cruelty that had Tim openly moaning into his mouth. Peter chuckled into his mouth. "Elias has no idea what he has," he purred. "He can be so _blind._ Works out nicely for me."

"Yeah," Tim said, breathlessly. "I mean--yeah, me too, seems like."

"Are you this worked up over a kiss?" Peter asked, amusement coloring his tone. "You poor boy, I'm going to ruin you."

"Sounds like a good time," Tim said. "When? You promise?"

Peter threw back his head and laughed. "Let me drive you home," he said. "So I'll know where to pick you up this weekend."

Peter's car, which apparently materialized out of nowhere considering they had walked to the coffee shop, looked expensive enough that Tim almost hesitated getting into it. But Peter held the door open for him like a perfect gentleman, and he could hardly say no to that. For a while, there was traffic as usual; then they turned a corner and the streets were deserted, and Peter's hand was clasping the nape of Tim's neck in an uncompromising grip. Tim unbuckled his seatbelt and let himself be forced down into Peter's lap, his fingers scrambling clumsily at his fly. "Don't you need directions?" Tim asked, glancing up as he curled his fingers around Peter's cock.

"Don't you worry about that," Peter said, and shoved his head down.

Tim liked to think of himself as an expert at all varieties of oral--he'd certainly never had any complaints, and had, in fact, been complimented more often than not. One of his friendlier exes had even sent one of her friends to him when they were stressed out over exams. Usually he was more than capable of putting his own arousal to one side to focus on his partner. Right now, with one of Peter's hands fisted in his hair and the other on the steering wheel, Tim thought he might come in his pants, whether he touched himself or not.

Peter pulled into the empty lot by Tim's building and hissed "Don't swallow." Tim nearly gagged himself trying to obey, pulling up just far enough that Peter didn't come directly down his throat; Peter yanked him up by the hair and fitted their mouths together in a sloppy kiss, tugging Tim into his lap and licking obscenely into his mouth, swiping his fingers through the come that drooled out of Tim's mouth.

Tim squirmed in his lap, desperately trying to think of something unsexy so as not to embarrass himself, but then Peter pulled away, licking his lips and swallowing in exaggerated fashion. Tim buried his face in Peter's shoulder and rutted against his hips, cursing and shuddering his way through an orgasm that utterly blindsided him. Afterwards, he panted against the fabric of Peter's shirt, faintly aware that he'd left an impressive wet spot. (Not as impressive as his own, but Peter's shirt probably cost Tim's monthly salary, so there was that to consider.) "That--" Tim shivered. "That has...literally never happened before."

Peter chuckled in his ear, running his fingers along his spine. "I'm flattered," he said lowly. "Now, what time should I pick you up Friday?"

"Um. What did you...have in mind?"

Tim felt Peter smirk against his skin. "Dinner," he said. "With the family."

"Family?" Tim pulled back, eyeing Peter with suspicion. "I didn't think-- _ahhh--"_

Peter had slipped his hand down the front of Tim's jeans, his fingers dancing lightly along the oversensitive head of his cock. When he pulled his hand back, he pressed his dripping fingers to Tim's lips and made a pleased noise when he sucked them into his mouth without complaint. "I think it would be good for my family to get to meet one of the assets they're investing so much in," he said. "And for you to meet them. And I'm _sure,"_ he added, his voice taking on a faintly mocking quality, "that dear Elias wouldn't mind."

Peter pulled his fingers from Tim's mouth and wiped them clean on Tim's jeans, clearly waiting for a reply. "Okay," Tim said dazedly. "What should I wear, anything special?"

Peter smirked, leaning in to press a surprisingly tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that," he said. "You're going to be the centerpiece."

* * *

 

The feeling of being watched didn't return until Tim entered the Institute the next day, but he was in such a good mood that he scarcely minded. When he entered the archives, Martin rushed to greet him, concern etched on his features. "Where did you _go?"_ he asked. "I've never seen Elias so tense."

"Was he?" Tim asked, smiling vaguely. "I was around, he didn't have anything to worry about. Having coffee with one of our donors."

Martin eyed him warily. "Donors?" he repeated. "What--and why are you so happy all of a sudden?"

Tim smiled wider and shrugged, one-shouldered. "Anything that irks Elias is enough to cheer me up," he said. "And I have a date on Friday."

"With our...donor," Martin guessed, looking skeptical.

"Mmmhm."

"Didn't you...didn't you say this place was evil?"

Tim shrugged again. "I stand by it," he said. _"You're_ not worried about me, are you? I can take care of myself."

Martin glanced away, biting his lip. "I'm always worried," he said, trying to sound lighthearted but coming across as mostly self-deprecating. "But if you're happy, and you don't think it's a bad idea, then...it's not like I can stop you."

* * *

 

Tim was a little shocked when he managed to duck out of the Institute Friday afternoon without getting a lecture from Elias; he wondered if it was Peter's doing or if Elias was reluctant to do anything to annoy the Lukas family in general. When he didn't run into a single soul on his way home, he figured it had been Peter after all.

He knew it should have been terrifying, to a normal person. But he wasn't a normal person anymore; not after what he had put up with. He was so sick of the feeling of being watched, that it was better to be half a world away from all human contact than endure it any longer. (Tim luxuriated in being able to shower without feeling like someone was watching him. He thought about masturbating but decided against it; judging by Peter's comments, he wouldn't need to worry about getting off tonight.)

Peter had told him not to worry about dressing up, but still, Tim had a reputation to consider. The last thing he wanted was to come off as a slob. (Even so, he went with something easy to remove, and, at the last second, decided to forego any underwear.)

A normal person would have been alarmed to emerge from their bathroom to see a man they'd been on one date with sitting on their living room sofa, but Tim only felt the faintest flutter of nerves as Peter stood to greet him. "Hey," he breathed, and made a pleased humming noise when Peter kissed him.

"Black is your color," Peter said, toying with the collar of Tim's shirt. "All set?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Tim replied, accepting the arm Peter offered him. "Will you need me to read you directions?" he asked lightly as they headed out of the building.

Peter smirked. "Oh, that won't be necessary. Plenty of time for that tonight, just you wait."

* * *

 

The mansion they pulled up to was severe and unwelcoming, almost like something out of a horror movie. Tim half expected lightning to flash ominously behind it. He was definitely starting to feel underdressed, but if Peter noticed his discomfort, he didn't comment.

Inside was just as cold as the exterior; it was pristine in the kind of way that suggested it wasn't particularly lived in. There was scarcely any sign of a human touch anywhere; no books out of place, no chairs or sofas that looked particularly lived-in, not even any sentimental-looking trinkets or decor.

Peter lead him into a large sitting room; there were tables and extra chairs laid out, as if there were to be a gathering, but as Tim opened his mouth to ask a question, he paused. He realized he could very faintly hear voices. Almost as if they were coming from several rooms away, but something about the quality of it was off. As he listened, it occurred to him he could also smell food, though he had no idea where the kitchens might be. He glanced at Peter, eyebrows raised.

Peter just smiled at him and nodded towards the far wall. Tim followed his gaze and felt his breath catch in his throat. The box was tall, faintly coffin-shaped, and incredibly ornate, clearly made of polished ebony, inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl. All its lavishness didn't hide the fact that it had several openings along its surface, all at various heights, kept closed up with black fabric. As far as elaborate sex toys went, this was by far the most extravagant Tim had ever seen.

He realized his jaw had gone slack when Peter gently closed his mouth. "Party starts whenever you're ready, centerpiece," he purred, and Tim swallowed thickly. He nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak, and Peter lead him forward with a hand on his lower back. "I got this for quite a steal from a friend of mine," Peter said as he unlocked and opened the box.

The inside was just as lush, with soft black velvet along the walls and cushioned leather restraints near the floor and hanging from the ceiling. "Looks like a nightmare to clean," Tim said, a little breathlessly, as Peter began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Oh, it's easier than it looks," Peter said. He unzipped Tim's fly and slipped a hand below his waistline, making a delighted noise in his throat when he discovered his lack of underwear. He pressed a kiss to each of Tim's wrists as he strapped him in, then did the same with his ankles, then stood to kiss him soundly on the mouth. "Comfortable?"

Tim shivered; in spite of the fact that he couldn't see anyone in the room and he doubted the could see him, he felt exposed, stripped and bound up as he was. But he was also already half-hard, so he tested his bonds, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yeah. Ready."

Peter grinned. _"Excellent,"_ he said, and shut the door.

Immediately, all sound was cut off. Not muffled--it ceased completely. No vague sounds of talking, no clinking of glasses, nothing. Tim opened his mouth to make a noise, just to reassure himself he still could--but found he couldn't. Or, if he could, he couldn't hear it. He couldn't see, either, the darkness pressing in on all sides; no light filtered in from the holes in the box or from where the crack in the door should have been. He wanted to shift and see if he could still reach the edges of the box, but the restraints held him firmly in place. Instead he flexed his fingers up; they didn't touch the ceiling. Either it was too high above him to reach, or it...wasn't there, anymore.

 _Jon had better not make me give a statement about this,_ he thought, his pulse quickening in a heady mix of fear and arousal.

And then...he waited. For long moments, nothing happened; he stood with every sense and muscle straining, anticipation dancing along his nerve endings. He was starting to wonder if anything was going to happen at all, or if he was to be left alone for eternity, when the first hand caressed his hip. He jolted, turning to look--but it was too dark to see. There should have been light filtering in from where the hand had parted the curtains, but there was nothing. The hand traced along the curve of his hipbone, stroked down the inside of his thigh, and pinched him roughly before retreating. Tim tried to make a noise of disappointment, though if he succeeded, he didn't hear it.

Another hand set of hands curled around him from behind, dragging fingernails too sharp to be Peter's up his stomach. They palmed at his chest, teased his nipples into hardness, and then vanished. Tim tugged at his restraints, his breath coming quicker in frustration.

The frustration was short-lived. There were more hands, more quickly after that, to the point that Tim rapidly lost track of how many people were touching him at once, or of when one pair of hands switched out for another. His bindings gave him little room even to squirm, leaving him at the mercy of whatever the hands touching him wanted to do. One fingertip teased the underside of his suddenly straining cock, dancing away when he tried to arch closer. Hands that may or may not have been a pair groped at his ass, hard enough that Tim was sure he would have finger-shaped bruises the next day. A thumb tapped at his lips, which he parted obediently to allow it to thrust into his mouth.

The first one to press anything inside him did so dry, pushing just a fingertip shallowly against him, barely even breaching him, but it was enough. Tim twisted in his bonds, cock twitching as he came; a hand that had been teasing the head of his cock stilled, then pulled away, before reappearing at his lips, pressing come-soaked fingers into his mouth. Tim sucked them into his mouth, licking them clean.

The touches didn't slow after that; if anything they became more insistent, crueler, and Tim could only stand in the silent dark and take whatever they chose to give him. A hand toyed with his cock--it gave an optimistic twitch, but Tim was more than aware that the owner of the hand was unconcerned with actually coaxing him back to hardness--they were touching him because they wanted to, because it pleased them, his own pain or pleasure not even a secondary concern. The thought made Tim's knees go weak, and he was grateful for the restraints for holding him up.

Fingers--this time slicked with something--pressed against his hole again, entering in a relentless slide, one then two then four, too fast for Tim to adjust properly. His lips parted in a silent moan and more fingers took the opportunity to force themselves into his mouth. There was a hand pinching the soft skin of his stomach and another scratching luxuriantly through up the back of his neck; a pair of hands slid between his thighs to massage his balls; fingers methodically pinched first one nipple, then the other, back and forth, over and over.

Tim lost track of the times they made him come, but he stopped getting hard long before they finished with him.

When the door opened he whined, flinching away from the seemingly blinding light of the sitting room. He could hear voices chatting, laughing, indistinct but painfully loud after so long in dead silence, but his eyes weren't adjusting fast enough to tell if there were actually people in the room with him. Someone he couldn't see released him from the restraints, and he collapsed into a strong pair of arms, his muscles too fatigued to hold his own weight.

Someone chuckled in his ear, and Tim cracked open one eye, just enough to see Peter smirking at him. "You're doing _so_ well," he said, and hoisted Tim's legs around his waist, pinned him against the closed door of the box, and sank his cock into him with little resistance. Tim went limp, each thrust wringing an exhausted moan from him. His nerves were raw and screaming, and Peter didn't even bother to touch his spent cock, but Tim still felt a brief, hot spark of pleasure when Peter groaned into his throat, pulled out, and came across his stomach. Tim patted Peter's hair vaguely, grinning at the ceiling with an absent, almost drunken satisfaction.

"All right?" Peter asked, somewhat breathlessly.

"Mmm," Tim said, and was very pleased with himself for managing that much. He hoped that he was getting across everything he felt--mostly "that was amazing," but also "don't put me down yet, I'll collapse."

There was a disorienting movement and Tim found himself in a bridal carry, Peter looking down at him with an amused expression on his face. "We'll get you cleaned up and I'll drive you home," he said. "How's that sound?"

"Mm."

"I thought as much."

* * *

 

That night, Tim dreamt of nothing--dark, silent stretches of emptiness, welcoming him with open arms, the first decent dreams he could remember having in a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> And hiatus madness begins!


End file.
